WHO would wish back the Saints upon our rough
Wearisome road?
Wish back a breathless soul
Just at the goal?
My soul, praise God
For all dear souls which have enough.
I would not fetch one back to hope with me
A hope deferred,
To taste a cup that slips
From thirsting lips: --
Hath he not heard
And seen what was to hear and see?
How could I stand to answer the rebuke
If one should say:
'O friend of little faith,
Good was my death,
And good my day
Of rest, and good the sleep I took'?
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